


I Know Everything (about you)

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Eddie Diaz Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Angst, Like Adults, M/M, Songfic, Talking, Three Little Words, Worried Eddie Diaz, aren't we proud?, insecure!Buck, inspired by the musical Groundhog Day, loving!Eddie, they talk about their problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Buck doesn't believe what Eddie tells him, because he doesn't want to let himself believe it. Eddie sets the record straight.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 304





	I Know Everything (about you)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Groundhog Day! I celebrate every year by listening to the musical, and today, that turned into this. Whipped out in like 10 hours, from idea to publication, around a shift at work. 
> 
> It's based on one of my favorite songs from the show, Everything About You. I'll link it at the bottom. Enjoy!

“Hey, Buck?” Eddie raps his knuckles gently against the wood. It feels odd to be knocking on his own bedroom door, but over the last few months, it’s become Buck’s room just as much as it’s his, and Eddie wants to respect his boundaries. If he needs space, Eddie will give him space. “Can I come in?” 

The respect doesn’t stop him from sighing in relief when he hears Buck whisper an invitation, though. 

He pushes the door open slowly. Buck’s feet come into view first, the white of his socks sticking out against the dark carpeting. He’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he leans against the side of the bed. His head is tipped back, staring at the ceiling fan going around and around above him. 

Buck turns to look at Eddie as he steps into the room, hands tucked into his pockets. He stands awkwardly at the foot of the bed, not quite sure where his place is in all of this. 

“Buck?” He asks his name softly, hoping the other man can offer him some sort of guidance here. As much as he can tell what Buck is thinking, has long been able to tell when there’s something on his mind, right now he doesn’t know _why._ He’d thought he’d come up with every possible response to what he’d said, but never in a million years would he have imagined this, imagined Buck getting up from the table, shoving his chair back roughly and taking off down the hallway to hide in Eddie’s room 

In _their_ room. 

“How could you say that?” Buck pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his elbows there. His hands curl together, supporting his temple when he leans his head forward to stare at Eddie. “How could you tell me that you love me?” 

“Buck …" Eddie trails off, trying to find the words for his next thought. His mouth opens and closes several times before he gives up and waves his hand at the space beside Buck. “Can I sit?” 

Buck nods, and Eddie steps closer, turns around to slide down and settle in against the corner of the bed. He’s on the same side as Buck, but has left a good foot of space between them, in case Buck doesn’t want to be close to him right now. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, Buck draws in a shaky breath and Eddie braces himself for the worst. 

“How could you say that you love me?” 

_OK, so not the worst._

Buck didn’t break up with him, so it’s not the worst it could be. He can work with this. 

“How _couldn’t_ I?” He shifts to look at Buck, but doesn’t turn or move any closer. “We’ve been dating for six months, you’ve practically moved in. You're on Chris’ pickup list at school. I … I didn’t think this was going to come as a surprise. Did you really not know that I love you?” 

“How could you?” This time, Buck stops short of asking how Eddie could _say_ it, and he knows the question has changed. “You don’t even _know_ me.” 

And that hurts a little bit, the suggestion that Eddie hasn’t been hyperaware of every last detail about Buck practically as long as they’ve known each other. But he lets it roll off, because he knows that Buck is hurting right now and probably didn’t mean for it to come across the way it did. 

Besides, just because Buck said it doesn’t mean it’s true. 

Eddie knows him, in all the ways that matter. And most of the ones that don’t, too. 

“You like boats,” he says simply, like these three words are the answer to everything. He’s thinking about the Saturday afternoon two weeks ago, when they’d taken Chris to the sporting goods store to look at the little aquarium. There hadn’t been enough time in the day to tour the entire zoo, but Chris had wanted to see some animals, and it had felt like a good compromise. 

At the end of the water tank, Eddie had noticed Buck staring at something off in the distance. He’d nudged Eddie’s shoulder, whispered “I’ll be right back,” and jogged away while Chris was admiring the whiskers on a catfish. 

He hadn’t been right back, so when Chris had finished looking, they’d wandered the store until they’d caught up with Buck. He was standing underneath a sign that said ‘Boat Zone,’ reading the specs for a small fishing boat. 

“Buck!” Chris had called across the aisle to get his attention, then turned to Eddie. “Dad, can I go see the boats with him? Will they let me climb onto one?” 

They’d spent 45 minutes exploring every demo boat on the floor, from kayaks to pontoons and every size in between. Somewhere along the way, Eddie had caught Buck by the elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear. 

“We could rent one sometime, you know? Take him out for an afternoon?” 

At that, he’d felt Buck’s muscles go tense. 

“Yeah … maybe,” he’d trailed off and shifted uncomfortably until Eddie had dropped both the conversation and his arm. 

It hadn’t been until much later that night, watching Buck squirm around the same way, even though he’d been fast asleep, that Eddie had figured out what was going on. 

“But,” he continues now, leaning a tiny bit closer to Buck and shifting back upright when he makes no move to receive the gesture. “You don’t like deep water.” 

That’s a newer development, the way Buck’s shoulders stiffen whenever they’re near anything much deeper than a bathtub. But it’s easier for him, Eddie can tell, when there are people nearby. Their last water rescue, Eddie had seen the fear in Buck’s eyes as they’d rappelled down the seawall. But he’d made sure not to stray more than an arm’s reach away, and Buck had made it all the way back up to the truck before his leg had started bouncing erratically. It’s getting a little easier every time, but he’d had a nightmare that night too. It hadn’t woken him up; that kind of escape from his own mind would have been too easy, but he’d relaxed when Eddie rolled over in bed and reached for his hand. 

So Eddie thinks maybe they’ll keep the seafaring fantasies to the linoleum tiles of the sporting goods store, at least for a while. But he knows Buck well enough to know that it won’t be forever, that he’ll come around in due time. 

Just like he knows that this won’t be forever either. He looks at Buck again, but he hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at his own lap, forehead cradled in his hands. Eddie risks a move, sliding close enough that he can feel the heat coming off of Buck’s body. For a moment, he thinks about wrapping an arm around his shoulders, but decides to take the chances one at a time. He’ll wait for Buck to be ready for that, to welcome the affectionate contact instead of looking like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at the slightest touch. 

“And,” Eddie continues. “You’re afraid of clowns.” Buck had been less embarrassed to admit this one, after they’d had to visit a haunted house on Halloween last year, when someone collapsed in the middle of the attraction. It had taken too long for the performers to realize that they were _actual_ first responders, not people dressed up as firefighters and EMTs, and everyone had faced their share of fright before the lights came up. 

Eddie can still remember the feeling of Buck’s nails digging into his forearm as he shoved Eddie up ahead of him after a bloodthirsty-looking clown had jumped out from around the corner and reached for him. A few seconds later, the darkness had broken, and everyone’s training had taken over. Buck had played it off well, but Eddie could tell he was still shaken up. Back at the station, everyone had been teasing each other for everything they’d seen, which led to Chimney asking Buck why the clown freaked him out, but he could look in the mirror every day. 

“Dude, he was out for my _life!”_ Buck had replied, shaking his head. “Did you see that makeup? No holds barred, that guy would have killed me.” 

“Sure he would have,” Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Because he was the one holding the giant chainsaw. No, wait, that was my guy.” 

The conversation had continued, but Eddie had taken notice of Buck’s reactions even then, the way his laughter had sounded a little forced. He didn’t want to ask about it, lest Buck think he was making fun of his discomfort, but Eddie is pretty sure it wasn’t just a one-off, that life had once again reared its ugly head (this time, with a bloody face paint smile) and come up with a new version of Buck’s personal hell. 

He hadn’t said anything when Buck reached for his hand as soon as they were in the truck to drive home, when he’d tucked himself a little closer to Eddie’s side that night. Whatever comfort he can provide is there for Buck’s taking. 

“And the end of the world,” he tacks on, reaching out to nudge Buck’s bicep gently with his pointer finger. He keeps the touch short, and tries not to let it bother him when Buck doesn’t move. There’s a shift in his posture; his spine looks a little less sharply bent, and Eddie knows that he’s listening to every word. 

Just like he knows that Buck had updated his disaster preparedness plans not long after he and Eddie had started dating. He’d come over one Saturday morning, armed with a dozen donuts and a plastic box filled with manila folders. Together, they’d spent the day walking through his plans, making sure everything was accessible for Chris, in case of fire, chemical attack, plane crash (both onboard and in the vicinity), and – of all things to be ready for in LA – a tornado. He’d listened to Buck talk about how important it is that they all know where to go, picked primary, secondary and tertiary meeting locations in case they aren't already together when disaster strikes. Eddie had promised to get him copies of their birth certificates and Social Security cards the next time he was at the bank, and written out a list of all of Chris’ medications. 

If it had been anyone else, he’d have thought they were being paranoid. If it had been anyone else, Eddie wouldn’t have gone along with it, tried to remember if Chris’ mole is on his left or right arm as he fills out a diagram of birthmarks in case his son gets kidnapped. He can’t imagine that being the detail that cracks the case, but if it’ll make Buck sleep easy at night, then he’ll go find the folder of school pictures, trim out a copy of Chris’ gap-toothed mug shot from last year and watch Buck tape it carefully in the box on the form. 

Because he knows that for Buck, this is about more than the off chance of someone taking Chris away in the middle of a cyclone. It’s about protecting his family from the worst things he can imagine. 

And it’s about that family now including Eddie and Chris. 

So he went along, took the whole thing just as seriously as Buck had, until every folder was stacked back in the box, thicker than it had been before. Now, if worst comes to worst, even if the world is ending, Buck has one less thing to worry about, because he’ll know where his family is. 

But the conversation tonight doesn’t need to be so grim. Tonight, they don’t need to worry about anything else going wrong. So Eddie adjusts his hands on his own knees and leans over just far enough for his shirtsleeve to touch Buck’s. It’s a tiny, featherlight touch, hardly enough to count. But it’s more than they were touching a second ago, and Buck doesn’t recoil, which Eddie takes as a good sign. 

“And you like films,” he smiles, thinking about all the movies he’s watched with Buck. The first time they’d held hands in the back of a theatre, feeling like a couple of teenagers as they laughed at the slapstick comedy they’d been watching. The movie nights with Chris, all three of them curled together on the sofa in a tangle of limbs, and the kids’ movie specials Buck had taken him to all summer. And the late nights, just the two of them, sharing a blanket and letting the television illuminate a dark living room as soft kisses distracted them from the action happening onscreen. 

But every single time, no matter what the movie, he can count on the same kind of feedback at the end, when he asks Buck what he thinks. 

_“It was good,”_ he’ll say, unless it wasn’t. _“But the ending felt a little drawn out. If you have to end it with a kiss so we know they’re in love, you need to get better writers.”_ Or, _”The conclusion should be obvious already, and then you can cut the sappy ending out without worrying about me getting the message.”_

Eddie used to roll his eyes and protest, argue that the cliché ending was sweet, or cute, or romantic, then lean over and kiss Buck gently and ask him if he really thought kisses were _that_ bad. But by now he knows that it’s just Buck’s inner film critic, that he secretly loves the predictable endings. 

“But as a rule, you think they should be 10 minutes shorter,” he whispers, nudging Buck’s elbow with his own. He’s smiling fondly, thinking about how much he loves Buck and his strong opinions, how he’ll always argue for what he thinks is right, even if it’s the unnecessity of a film’s final scenes. 

He could be mistaken, but Eddie thinks he feels Buck shift a little bit closer to him. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, and Eddie doesn’t acknowledge it, because he doesn’t want to scare him off. Instead, he just leans into it, pressing their arms together. 

“And when you were 19, you kissed a girl.” 

He and Buck had laughed about this one, Buck’s first kiss, over beers after a shift. He’d been fresh out of high school, working for the summer at the Hershey theme park, and in the middle of a gift shop rotation, a girl had walked up and asked him if he tasted as sweet as the chocolate. 

He’d blinked at her twice before she’d all but thrown herself at him. Buck hadn’t known how else to respond, so he’d kissed her back, even though the whole thing felt very, very wrong in about a dozen different ways. 

“But,” Eddie draws the word into several syllables, remembering how Buck had used the story to come out to him, talking about the lack of professionalism, but also the lack of feelings, even though an objectively beautiful girl was trying to climb all over him in the corner of the store. “You didn’t particularly like it.” 

At that, Buck finally lets out a breathy chuckle. Eddie knows he’s thinking about the same moment, how he’d felt absolutely nothing, other than being terrified that he’d get caught and lose his job. It hadn’t been for another three days before he realized that he was most worried about his manager finding out and firing him, because said manager was only a year or so older than him, and a _very cute_ student at the local community college. A very cute, very _male_ student, in a revelation that didn't startle Buck nearly as much as he’d thought it should. 

“Well you could be talking about almost anyone,” he mutters into his knees. But then he looks up and turns his head, resting his cheek on the back of his hand and staring at Eddie expectantly. 

_Good, it’s working._

“And you love the thighs of perfectly roasted chicken,” Eddie says next, thinking about every Sunday dinner they’ve spent with Bobby and Athena, and whoever else from the team shows up, indulging in seemingly endless chicken and mashed potatoes and the best green beans Eddie’s ever eaten. Everyone else tries to fight over the breasts, but Buck is always pulling the dark meat from the bottom of the pile, nibbling every last morsel he can from the bones. 

“Well who doesn’t?” Buck laughs again, a little watery this time as his eyes fill with tears. 

Eddie leans over again, risking a soft kiss to Buck’s temple as he blinks the mist out of his own vision. Buck sighs, the tension seeming to leave his body all in one heavy breath, and turns his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. 

It’s the best thing Eddie’s ever felt, Buck coming back to him like this, seeking comfort from the thoughts he doesn’t want to bear. He leans his head against Buck’s and indulges himself by wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders, a move he’s wanted to make since he first sat down on the floor beside him. 

“And …" he lets the word linger in the tiny, infinitesimal spaces between them as he tries to decide which moment to reflect on next. He wants something from Buck’s past, something they didn’t share together, but Eddie knows about him anyway. “And you slept with the light on until you were 12.” 

Sometimes, he still does, if he falls asleep before he remembers to switch off his lamp. Or, less often, when the thoughts running through his mind are too big for him to share them with the darkness. But that part is different now, too. Because now he has Eddie, Eddie whose heart breaks for Buck, but who’s always willing to bear some of his load. Whatever he’s facing, he doesn’t face it alone like he had back then. 

“Because you thought Jesus was going to appear from the dark,” Eddie continues. “And get angry with you for not helping your mom with her mom,” He keeps talking, before Buck can linger for too long on the memories that Eddie knows are harder for him to think about, how petulant he was about running errands with the grandmother he’d give anything to have back in his life now. “Or walking the dog, who you named Steven, because …" 

He trails off, trying to remember the next detail. Steven had been a terrier, Buck thinks, some scruffy mutt from the pound. His parents had finally given in after weeks of him and Maddie begging for a pet, promising to take care of it all by themselves, even though they’d been a little too young for that responsibility. Still, between the two of them, they’d made it work, especially as Maddie got older and was able to better keep track of things like meals and walks. 

Buck always sounded nostalgic whenever he talked about Steven, the only pet he’d ever had for more than a weekend of hamster-sitting for his classmates. He’s used the story to try and talk Eddie into a dog for Chris, but Eddie’s holding firm that he’s not prepared to raise a dog _and_ his son. 

Maybe now that it’s the three of them, though … 

But that’s a conversation for another time, when they’re both feeling a little more stable, not crying together on the bedroom floor. 

“Actually, you never did tell me why,” Eddie concedes, and Buck shifts to wrap an arm around his midsection as he replies. 

“Maddie picked it. Uh, after Steven Tyler. She had a whole Aerosmith phase in middle school.” 

They both laugh at that, and Eddie adds the information to his mental compendium of all things Buck. 

“Noted,” he tightens his hold on Buck’s shoulders. “But apart from that, I know _everything_ about you.” He turns his head to bury his face in Buck’s hair and press a kiss to his scalp. “And I love you. I love you _because_ of all that, and everything else. I love everything about you, just the way you are.” 

Buck pulls his head away from Eddie’s shoulder. The skin is instantly cold, from more than just the air in the room, and Eddie waits with baited breath for Buck’s reaction. 

_Did he push too far? Was there some invisible line he crossed, something about himself that Buck doesn’t think Eddie should love? If he were that uncomfortable, Eddie’s pretty sure he’d have interrupted, or gotten up, or something._

“I …" Buck’s voice is shaky as he tries the sentence again. “I love you too. Uh, everything about you, too.” He looks down again, wringing his hands in his lap. But this time, he’s got his knee pushed up against Eddie’s thigh, so he doesn’t feel quite so far as he had earlier. “And … thanks. For loving me. And for saying all that. I-I need to hear it sometimes.” 

“I know.” Eddie reaches out again, resting his hand over Buck’s and squeezing lightly. He swallows down the lump in his throat. “I know, and I love you for it. And I’ll tell you whenever you want me to, just say the word, Buck.” 

Buck nods, and Eddie pulls his hand up until he’s lifting Buck’s chin. 

“Hey,” 

“Hmm?” 

Eddie leans forward and kisses him gently. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wg6MDP4tGPk
> 
> And there it is! Fear not, this won't interrupt the schedule for Ticket to LA. Let me know what you think!


End file.
